


Closerthan

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Series: Horseshoes, Hand Grenades, & Maybe Love [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Love, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he's reconciled with the love of his life, it should be easy for Stan to believe everything's sorted. But after a while he finds he can't deny that something—maybe the most important thing—still needs fixing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closerthan

Stan doesn't like to admit it, but he still can't differentiate between their cars based on sound alone. So he doesn't know for sure that it's Kenny until he hears the back door. After the GTO incident, Kenny stopped using the front door; even when he comes in with Kyle, he goes around back. It seemed like such an obvious ploy for attention at first that Stan felt he had no choice but to grit his teeth and ignore it; now it's become habit, and no one questions it.

There are footsteps, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing, more footsteps, and then Kenny is in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. "Oh—I." He stops moving. Stan looks up but doesn't say anything, and finally Kenny says, "Sorry, I didn't know you were home."

Since Stan doesn't owe Kenny any explanations about when he chooses to work from home, he remains silent. Kenny does, too, as he stands in the doorway, holding an ice pack against his right hand.

"What happened to you?"

Kenny looks down as if he's forgotten his own hand. "It's nothing. Just a little cramping."

The too easy joke about all the beating off Kenny must do in his cubicle at the data center goes unsung.

"That's not going to help." Stan flips the lid of his laptop shut and leans forward to set it on the coffee table. "Come here." Kenny's lips move wordlessly but the rest of him stays still. Stan holds his hands palm-up. "Just come here, dude. I'm not going to bite."

Kenny flinches but pushes off the doorframe; as he comes over to the sofa, Stan realizes it's the first time he's called Kenny "dude" since that day—and also that it's the first time he's thought of the day he caught them in bed, the day everything fell apart, without capitalizing it like it's a national holiday.

Instead of sitting next to him, Kenny sits at the other end of the sofa. Stan moves into the empty space and holds out his hand. "Here." He takes the ice pack from Kenny and then takes Kenny's hand in both of his. A furrow appears on Kenny's brow before Stan looks down at their hands; he could swear Kenny is holding his breath, and feels a little short of air himself. This is definitely the first time he's touched Kenny since then. He looks down as he strokes up from Kenny's fingers to his wrist with the palms of both hands, spreading warmth over Kenny's iced skin. Then he turns Kenny's hand palm-up and rubs small, firm circles into Kenny's palm with his thumb, kneading the muscles at the base of each finger.

"Harder," Kenny murmurs, involuntarily maybe, because he's biting his lip as if it offended him when Stan glances up. As he repeats the movements this time, Stan uses his knuckles for added pressure, and Kenny lets his eyes close.

Stan watches Kenny's face as he rubs his thumb in circles from knuckle to tip now. Kenny is only the second person Stan has ever done this for. He's not as vocal as Kyle, but there's a relief so deep it's bordering on pleasure in the barely audible breaths slipping from between his parted lips as Stan works on him. His breathing falls into the rhythm of Stan's hands or it could be that Stan's movements go to meet Kenny's breathing as he ministers to each individual finger. His fingers slip away beneath Kenny's, one by one, as he makes his way all the way up, until his thumb comes to the tip; and with another firm but gentle tug, he moves on to the next finger. When he's done all of the fingers, Stan takes Kenny's hand in both of his own once more, thumbs centered just below the wrist, tips just touching each other. He finishes off by dragging his thumbs over Kenny's hand to the edges, eliciting the deepest sigh yet, then lets go.

"Thanks, man." Kenny traces his lifeline with his thumb as Stan shifts back to the opposite end of the sofa. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Remember Kyle's Luddite period in college, when he insisted on writing everything by hand?" His professors said they'd only accept his papers if his writing was as small and legible as typeset, and Kyle had taken that as a challenge rather than the "no" Stan suspected it was meant as. Those professors didn't realize they were up against the kid who ended communism in Cuba just so he could go to a Raging Pussies concert. Stan grins at the memory, then resumes, "His hand used to cramp like crazy all the time, so I went behind his back and used the evils of technology to teach myself hand massage."

"Cool," Kenny says, probably smiling at thoughts of Kyle's legendary stubbornness, too.

The silence they lapse into is different this time. It's familiar, actually, and that's what makes it different, or at least different from how things have been for the past year or so. Stan and Kenny have never really been the talkers of their group, the ones who need to fill spaces with words. That's always been Kyle and Cartman. And Butters, if you counted him as one of their group.

Butters isn't a part of their group anymore and, even though Stan is the only one who still hangs out with him (Cartman is refusing to have anything to do with any of them until "you fucking faggots get your lives together," which had royally pissed Stan off at first because he'd thought Cartman, of all people, would be unequivocably on his side; only recently has he come to understand Cartman's need not to choose between friends, as unexpected as it was), he regrets not counting Butters more when he could have. They made fun of him a lot when they were all kids and it's true that Butters, who has never had a problem saying whatever pops into his head, has said some astonishingly dumb things in his lifetime. But he's said some genuinely insightful things, too.

Like a couple of weeks ago, when Stan was complaining about how fucking clingy Kenny is, always hanging around Kyle, always hanging around the house even when Kyle isn't there, Butters said, "I suppose that's because Kenny only really ever had you fellas. Well, and me." His smile then was full of too many emotions and rather than trying to identify them all, Stan looked away. "And now all he has is Kyle."

Even though Butters said it in the sweetest voice possible, Stan kind of felt like he'd been slapped across the face. He hadn't once tried to put himself in Kenny's shoes because, fuck, why _would_ he? It didn't matter how Kenny felt, Stan just didn't care about that; it had taken everything for him to try with Kyle, and he didn't have anything left. Besides, Kenny had proven he didn't care about Stan. Hadn't he?

Stan got pulled out of his thoughts by Butters saying, "He still has me, to tell you the truth." Stan wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that, it was spoken so softly, so he didn't say anything. Then Butters flashed him a lopsided grin. "Not like that—but, well, he's still important to me, you know? I'm still his friend, he just doesn't know it yet. I've forgiven him in my heart, but I'm not doing it out loud until you do."

It took a moment for Stan to hear what Butters was saying, _really_ saying. "You said 'until'." Stan swallowed. "Not 'unless'; 'until'."

"Well, yeah." Butters looked at him, not smiling anymore. "I can't imagine the three of you not being close as heck." He tilted his head, eyebrows arched as if something unfathomable just occurred to him and he was going to try to fathom it anyhow: "Are you really and truly thinking about never ever forgiving him?"

It seemed so simple, so obvious when Butters said it. Before everything fell apart, the three of them were closer than brothers, closer than anything, closerthanthis. Now—now...

That was as far as Stan got before Butters sighed. "It's too bad our future selves didn't warn us about this when they had the chance."

"Butters..." Stan said slowly, holding back a sigh of exasperation; for every one Butters hit out of the park, there was still a handful of swing-and-misses like this. "You know our future selves—"

"Oh, I know, Stan!" Butters grinned, and Stan felt an embarrassed pang at having once again underestimated him. "I was just making a little joke there!" Butters's smile faded. "I suppose this might sound crazy to anyone but you, but I'm kind of glad I didn't know from the start. Because then I wouldn't have gotten to fall in love with Kenny, and I—well, I liked being in love with him."

It didn't sound crazy to Stan. Actually, it sounded close to something Kenny once said to him. He didn't tell Butters that, though.

"This has been the worst, you know."

Kenny's words startle Stan back into the now. He looks over, but Kenny isn't looking at him.

"Losing our friendship. Losing you. I know you don't—" Kenny's jaw works silently for a moment. "I know we can't go back to how things were. I just. I fucking miss you, man." He blinks a couple of times, then moves like he's going to get up, still without looking at Stan.

Stan gets up first. Pushes Kenny back against the sofa as he goes by, to the front door, opens it and walks out.

He leans back against the door after he closes it. Takes as deep a breath as he's ever taken and tells himself he can do this.

_You can do this, Marsh._

_You can do this._

_It might be the stupidest thing you've ever done, but you won't know until you do it. You can do it._

_You_ can _. And you're going to. Do not pussy out. Fucking do it._

_Do it. Now. Go!_

He lets out that breath, takes a deeper one, turns and knocks on the door.

He has to knock a few times before he hears footsteps inside. When the door opens, he puts on a grin and says, "McCormick?" He nods encouragingly, though whether it's for himself or Kenny, he doesn't know. "Are you Kenny McCormick?"

"I..."

"I'm Stan Marsh." He sticks out his hand. "Kyle's other boyfriend? Sorry, I know this is weird. Kyle's just told me a lot about you and you sound like a pretty cool guy, so I kind of wanted to meet you." His hand is hanging out there; Stan decides to let it hang for another second. He tries another grin. "Is it okay if I come in, or am I freaking you out?"

"No, yeah, come in." Kenny's hand clasps his, hard and quick, before he steps back, opening the door wider. The look on his face is so pathetically grateful Stan has to look the other way as he enters the house.

By the time he looks back, Kenny has a normal smile on his face and Stan is flashing him another one before he even knows it. "Is Kyle here?"

Kenny shakes his head. "Still at work for, like, another hour, I think." Without missing a beat, he adds, "I just stopped by to get a book I promised him I'd read."

"Oh. So~" Stan draws out the syllable, arches one eyebrow. "Maybe just you and me can hang out for a bit? Get to know each other? Or should I come back—"

"No, dude, stay. It's cool."

"Okay, cool." Stan flops into his accustomed place on the sofa, then leans forward when he sees Kenny still standing. "Oh, is this where you usually sit?"

"Nah, you're good there," Kenny says. "Can I get you a beer? Kyle keeps all these fancy microbrews around, that I assume are for you."

Stan grins: some things never change; Kenny will always make fun of him for thinking he's too good for Coors. "Yeah, I'll take whatever's in there."

Kenny comes back with a Breckenridge Agave Wheat in one hand and a Fat Tire Amber in the other. When he holds them out with a questioning eyebrow, Stan is briefly tempted by the potential entertainment of Kenny drinking Agave Wheat, but doesn't want to push too far too fast and taps that one for himself.

"You do that, too, huh?" Stan says when Kenny pops the cap off his bottle using the edge of the coffee table.

"Don't tell Kyle." Kenny grins as he holds out a hand, offering to do Stan's bottle as well.

"Our secret." The words twist in Stan's belly as he holds up his fingers, scout's honor, but not unpleasantly so.

"So," Kenny says as he hands Stan the Breckenridge and settles back against the cushions, mouth of his own bottle poised for the first sip, "I hear you're a Broncos fan." When Stan affirms it enthusiastically, Kenny joins him in elucidating the merits of the greatest sports franchise in history.

They've been comfortably and neutrally talking sports for long enough that Stan has lost track of time, when Kenny says, "I actually know a guy who went pro. Arena football, if you count that—he plays for the Utah Blaze."

"Oh, dude—Donovan, right?" Stan says. "Kyle's friend from high school. Clyde? I've met him a few times. He got us tickets to a couple of games last season. Good player, nice guy," he says in order of importance when talking about pro athletes, even ones you know personally.

"Right." Kenny takes another swig of Fat Tire, which he has declared to be no Coors but not entirely unpalatable. "I forgot you know all of Kyle's friends, too."

"Most of them," Stan says. "I think I know someone you don't, though. He's, like, the nicest guy on the entire planet. Leopold Stotch, but we all call him Butters. Butters Stotch—like Butterscotch? Uh, I don't know, I guess we thought we were clever when we were kids." He offers a half-grin, takes another casual sip of his beer. "Anyhow, I think you'd like him. We should all hang out some time."

Kenny's knuckles have gone white around his bottle. He's looking at Stan hard. Stan doesn't look away.

"Don't," Kenny finally says, his voice low. He swallows. "Don't fuck with me about that."

"I'm not fucking with you." Stan's voice is low, too. "I don't mean tomorrow or anything. Maybe not for a while. But yeah..."

Kenny doesn't look like he can talk just now and Stan doesn't know what else to say. He hopes the silence won't get strained and break this, whatever this is.

The sound of the tumblers clicking in the front door lock makes them both look up as Kyle opens the door. "Hey," he says when he sees them sitting there. He looks from one to the other as they look back at him without speaking or moving. His head tilts, hand still on the open door. "Is...everything all right?"

Stan isn't actually sure if everything is all right. He shouldn't have thrown the Butters possibility in like that.

He thinks he might be even more relieved than Kyle is when Kenny says, "Yeah. Yeah, everything's cool. Stan came by and I happened to be here..."

Stan picks up where Kenny trails off: "And since he was actually the one I came to see, we thought we'd just hang until you got home. Sorry," he adds when the crinkle of confusion sets deeper into Kyle's brow. "I probably should have asked if you'd mind. Just, I know you've been wanting us to meet for a while—"

"Okay," Kyle says. "I think—will you excuse me for a minute, please?"

They watch him go into the kitchen, then look at each other.

"One of us should go," Stan says.

"You go." Kenny's smile is natural again. "This is your thing."

Stan nods, holds the bottle to his lips for a double-swallow, then goes into the kitchen.

Kyle is standing at the counter, both arms braced against it, head down. Stan treads more heavily than necessary, not surprised when Kyle doesn't turn around at his footsteps. "Hey," he says when he gets to Kyle.

"Stan~" Kyle says, more brokenly than Stan would have thought possible.

"Hey," he says again, softer. "It's okay. It's going to be all right."

Kyle looks at him now. "Is it?" His eyes search Stan's face.

"Yes." Stan doesn't know how he knows it, but suddenly he does know it. Fuck, he _knows_ it. "It is."

Kyle keeps looking for another moment; Stan lets him, and looks back too.

"Okay," Kyle finally says. He closes his eyes, inhales slow and steady. He opens the drawer he's standing in front of and pulls out a messy stack of takeout menus. "If you guys pick something, I'll call in the order, okay?"

Giving Kyle the space he's just short of begging for, Stan returns to the living room with the menus. Since they have the numbers, he and Kenny decide to outvote Kyle, who always chooses Chinese, and go for Thai. The pout that blossoms on Kyle's face when Stan goes back into the kitchen and waves the menu for J's Noodles at him makes Stan want to kiss him, but he only grins and grabs another Agave Wheat for himself, a Coors for Kenny.

When he returns to the living room, Kenny is on his hands and knees fiddling with the Xbox. He kneels up to take the beer with a thanks, then says, "We—Kyle has three controllers, if you want to play something." At Stan's nod, Kenny raises his voice. "Hey, Kyle— _Left 4 Dead 3_ or _4_?"

"Four!" Kyle shouts back, still in the kitchen. "Four, four, four! Jesus Christ, if I never see the world of _3_ again it will be too soon! I thought I threw that fucking cartridge out!"

He did; Stan was there when Kenny fished it out of the trash with the same smile he's wearing now. Stan grins back.

It's been a while for all of them, but they still have the knack for zombie slaying. They've been playing for hours—pausing only to gorge themselves on pad thai, spicy basil noodle, green curry, and sticky rice with mango—when tragedy strikes.

"Oh my god!" The words spill instinctively, unselfconsciously from Stan's mouth. "They killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!" Kyle chimes in immediately, swinging around to join Stan in taking vengeance.

Kenny's laughter, muffled but unmistakable, floats up from the floor.

And on they go.


End file.
